


Tevinter Speed Dating and Other Tales of the Imperium

by Wildmooncat



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-04-20
Packaged: 2018-05-31 00:19:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6447892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wildmooncat/pseuds/Wildmooncat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At his parents' insistence, Dorian attends a Courtier's Ball. He is bored out of his pretty mind, until a fetching pair of copper eyes meet his. Set before Inquisition, when Dorian was still in good standing in Tevinter.</p>
<p>Additional chapters detail Dorian's life before Inquisition, his falling out with Alexius and his parents.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Dorian drummed his fingers on the table to the rhythm of the music. Thank the Maker for the music. Without the lively arrangement being played by the chamber orchestra, Dorian was quite sure he would have nodded off several times during his companion’s long story concerning just how she had come to find the perfect shoes to go with her custom-made gown. Dorian enjoyed a good shoe as much as the next man, but the agonizing details of how she had come by said shoe were enough to put a cordwainer to sleep.

Her face lit up as she reached what must surely have been the climax of her story. “There, on the central pedestal, was the most darling pair I’ve ever seen!” she said, clapping her hands for emphasis. “Charming buttons like little candies. Delicious! Floral brocade in teal and cream with delicate little stitching in silver. Clearly the work of Orlesian elves with their little nimble fingers. Oh, and it fit like an absolute dream, Dorian! I fell in love on the spot! So, you can imagine my soul-crushing disappointment when the purveyor told me that he had sold another pair just like it to none other than Alecto Sparti just two days before! It took all of my resolve to maintain composure.”

Dorian rubbed his upper lip to conceal a yawn that could be stifled no longer. “How awful,” he drawled with as much energy as he could muster, blinking to keep the blood flowing to his faltering eyelids. It wasn’t his companion’s fault. Conversation after conversation was dull as a lamppost because anything of substance could run the risk of making the young men and women gathered lose sight of the purpose of these events: finding an advantageous match. These tiring affairs were always a performance of class, taste, and ideal femininity, interspersed with the name-dropping of important family connections. The young lady currently chatting with Dorian may well have been as bored with the topic of shoe shopping as he was, but she kept it up because this was simply what one does at a courtier’s ball.

“Having absolutely no luck finding a suitable pair in Minratous,” Dorian’s companion continued, “I sent a letter to my dear aunt Eleni Ponsia in Qarinis.” And there was the name dropping. “She has spectacular taste, and I had the utmost faith that she would find me something stunning.”

Dorian’s eyes began to wander against his will. Most of the couples spread around the room were making a good show of their interest in their companions. Laughter tittered here and there, animated expressions, even the occasional chaste touch of a shoulder or brush of fingertips. Dorian could barely manage a thin smile after two hours of moving from girl to girl every time the bell chimed, only to be treated to the same empty conversations and affectations with a new partner. He scanned the room, considering whose banality he would deign to suffer through next. 

As his gaze traveled sleepily from person to person, another pair of eyes—and rather a nice pair at that—met his in the course of their own travels. Rilienus, with skin like fine whiskey and cheekbones that could cut glass, gave him a knowing smirk, sending Dorian’s pulse racing. The smooth curve of Rilienus’ full ochre lips was the stuff of sonnets. And Dorian had attempted to compose more than a couple, the results of which remained hidden under the floorboards of Dorian’s bedroom closet along with an assortment of other sentimental mementoes—a wine cork, a note passed furtively in a handshake, a rose petal—stowed away from prying eyes and the waggling tongues of the Circle’s staff. Dorian wished he could fold that smile up and slip that under the floorboards to take out and enjoy in private moments. Ah, but Rilienus’ face would suffer for the loss, so poems would have to suffice. 

“Dorian?” his companion giggled, waving her delicate gloved hand in front of his eyes. “Poor dear, you look positively absent with that dreamy grin. Too much shoe talk driven you batty?”

Dorian refocused on her and laughed in earnest. “Ah, it seems so. I don’t know what’s the matter with me tonight? I can usually handle at least four, five hours of shoes and corsets before my expression begins to glaze.”

“Must be the wine then,” she said with a sweet smile that forgave his rudeness. “I could do with a nap myself. But it’s your turn to talk now, and I’m positively dying to hear everything you know about mustache wax,” she said with enthusiasm that Dorian could not gauge the sincerity of. 

A loud high bell rang through the hall, and Dorian’s companion pouted her disappointment. “Alas, my dear lady,” Dorian said with warm levity, “The thrills of mustache grooming will have to wait for another day. This round is up.”

“Ah well, another time then, Master Pavus,” she said, giving him her hand, which Dorian dutifully kissed. “It has been a pleasure. Do look for me during the dancing; I have a feeling you know your way around a ballroom floor.”

“Of course, Lady… uh…” Dorian’s mind drew a blank. He could not for the life of him remember the young woman’s name, so he just smiled and gave a quick bow. “It would be my pleasure.”

The young woman’s smile tightened, losing the warmth she had graced him with a moment before, and Dorian was sure she would later be calling him all manner of unflattering names to her friends to punish him for forgetting her's. She gave him an icy curtsey and walked away, stunning shoes clicking purposefully against the polished floor as she went. How very disappointed in him she was.

After two more rounds of numbing conversation with eligible young noble women and another hour of dancing –during which the offended young woman pointedly avoided him—the chorus of bells at last chimed to indicate the end of the evening. Thank the Maker. Most of the attendants began milling about socially, searching for that one special someone who had sparked their interest. Dorian, on the other hand, made a beeline for the door, hoping to make it out of the hall before any young woman cornered him and began edging for an invitation to dinner. Thankfully, by stealth or lack of interest on the part of the ladies, Dorian made it quickly out the back entrance and into the cool, refreshing night air. He took a deep relaxing breath and released it in a contented sigh.

“A sigh like that, someone might think you just escaped from the gallows, Dorian,” said Rilienus’ melodious tenor from behind him, sending a pleasant shiver across Dorian’s skin. Rilienus walked to Dorian’s side, and put a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. 

Dorian massaged his own neck, rolling his head. “Tell me honestly: Do the noose marks show?”

Rilienus laughed. “Only to me, I think.” They walked side by side into the backstreets the alley fed into. “So, any promising prospects tonight? Any of them capture your eye or your heart? Did you, by chance, meet the future Lady Pavus?” Rilienus teased.

“Heh, hardly by chance! My mother informed me that if I did not leave this party with at least three names of prospective brides, she would drag me back to Qarinus by my earlobe and take care of the matter herself.”

“And who are the three names?” Rilienas asked thrusting his hands into his pockets as he kicked a loose bit of gravel down the walkway.

“Are you joking? Of the dozen ladies I chatted with this evening, I’m lucky if I can even remember a single name. They all sort of blur together in a smudge of buttons and lace. And they’re no more enthralled with me, I can tell you.”

Rilienus gaped. “Now you’re the one who’s joking! Dorian, half the girls there tonight came specifically to meet you.”

Dorian laughed incredulously. “And why would they want to do that? I drink too much, I spend my nights off and about doing Maker-knows-what, and I’m perfectly rude! No one in their right mind should want to marry me!”

Rilienus rolled his eyes. “You’re the son of a well-regarded—and obscenely wealthy—Magister and the Archon’s own niece, the prized student of Magister Alexius, and now a newly minted enchanter of the Minrathous Circle. With a pedigree like that, you’re virtually guaranteed a seat in the Magisterium. You could even become Archon.”

“You sound like my mother,” Dorian groaned.

“You also have a splendid bum and positively irresistible bedroom eyes.”

“Well, that sounded considerably less like my mother,” Dorian said, a tingle of electric heat tickling through him at the realization that Rilienus liked his bum and eyes. “She tends to focus on the regal arch of my nose and the clever angle of my jaw.”

Rilienus poked Dorian in the ribs, laughing. “Yes, all of that too. You’re a catch, Dorian. Any one of those girls would marry you in an instant.”

Dorian grimace. “Pity, then, that I hated none of them well enough to be so cruel.”

Rilienus rolled his eyes. “Believe me, I do understand; I feel ill every time I think of getting married. But you can’t stay a bachelor forever, D.”

Dorian snorted. “Actually, I can. My very favorite Tevinter law makes it quite clear that no citizen can be compelled to wed or bed against their will.”

“True. The law also says that a bachelor cannot inherit.”

Dorian shrugged. “They can’t all be winners.”

Rilienus grabbed Dorian’s shoulders, stopping him in his tracks. “Are you being serious? Are you actually planning to refuse to marry? Do you have any idea what that could cost you?”

Dorian smiled wryly. “I have an idea, yes. Down to the exact coin amount, in fact.”

“People will start to suspect. If anyone found out… you could lose your position at the Circle, never mind completely ruining your chance at a seat in the Magisterium!”

Dorian shook him off. “My but you’re dramatic tonight. Nobody jumps to such conclusions. Everyone simply supposes that I’m especially discerning, as a man of my ‘pedigree’ should be.”

“For now!” Rilienus said, a little louder than Dorian preferred. “But how long will that hold up? A choosey bachelor of thirty years is nothing to crow about. But a choosey bachelor of forty years? Fifty? And when your parents die and you can’t access your inheritance? Who is going to believe that you’re just a man of discerning taste then?”

“Do keep your voice down!” Dorian hissed. “I am aware that questions will be raised eventually. However, I should have my seat on the Magisterium before then. Then I won’t need my father’s blighted money any longer. And no one would accuse a Magister of being a sodomist without some rather compelling proof.”

“Which your political adversaries will undoubtedly find! You’re discrete, Dorian, but you’re far from chaste. The right bribe here, a disgruntled servant there. You’ll be found out if you give them enough reason to look.”

Dorian sighed. He recognized the truth in what Rilienus said. It kept him awake, filled him with dread every time he snuck out of his Circle apartment in the dead of night, following the back alleys to the secret meeting places where men such as him stole moments of honest feeling and passion in the midst of lives that forced them to lie with every stifled breath.

“Just find a wife, D. Someone who will benefit from the status your alliance gives her. If any questions come up, she’ll vouch for you to protect her own position, and you can carry on as you please. No one will ever be the wiser.”

A deep swell of revulsion rose in the pit of Dorian’s stomach. “Is that what you plan to do? Lead a double life, pretending that you’re just what everyone wants you to be, while all the while you’re screaming on the inside?”

Rilienus scowled. “How is that any different from what we’re doing now? How is agreeing to marry some beautiful Altus any more of a lie than telling your parents that you just haven’t found the ‘right girl’ yet? The only difference between us, Dorian, is that you’ll eventually be found out, and I won’t.”

Dorian shook his head, exhausted with even thinking about continuing to hide, all the possible ways he could be ‘found out,’ and the consequences that would follow. He’d been worrying over it all for nearly half his life now, and it was starting to feel like too much. “Men like us… we can’t live in the shadows forever,” he said heavily.

Rilienus frowned, his eyes glinting copper pools in the moonlight. “It’s the only place there is for us, D. Better to live in the shadows than to be destitute, or worse.”

Dorian wasn’t so sure any more. “Perhaps,” he said softly. “But ultimately I’d prefer a spot in the sun with everyone else. Maker knows there’s room enough.”

Rilienus nodded. “You’ll get no argument from me. But it’s not going to change. Best we just accept the way things are.”

Dorian flared his nostrils. “You’re really going to do it then? Play the dutiful citizen, marry, reproduce, spend your entire life pretending?”

Rilienus shrugged. “It’s livable. Hoping for more than that is kidding yourself.”

Dorian had no illusion he and Rilienus could live happily ever after—he was a dalliance, nothing more—but thinking of the beautiful man marrying and settling into a farce of domestic bliss made Dorian feel the sudden and irresistible need for a drink. Or Several.


	2. Alexius

Dorian looked down at the three unopened letters on his desk. His mother’s sharp slanted script was so tense and exact, he could almost see her tightly pursed mouth and gripped hand as she wrote his formal address: Enchanter Dorian Pavus. Even with the seal unbroken, he could guess at the contents. His last letter home had informed his parents that his efforts at the Courtier’s Ball had come to no avail, and he could recommend no names for his family to move forward with. And besides, with his new position in the Minrathous Circle, was now really the time to be pushing this marriage business? Surely such matters could wait a few years, until he was more settled. By then he might even be advanced to a Senior Enchanter position, or even have a seat on the Magisterium. Surely the more prestigious his position the better match his family would be able to bargain for, yes? She wouldn’t have bought his excuses, he knew that. The letter would no doubt be informing him of some eligible young women they had vetted for him. Of course the illusion that she was leaving the matter entirely up to him would be maintained, hedged by the ever so subtle threats that she’d settle it all in his stead should he refuse to act as she willed.

Dorian sighed as he tapped his fingers on the unopened letter. Doing as his parents asked was surely the wise course of action. As Rilienus had argued weeks before, a wife, particularly one who would depend on Dorian for status, would offer a sort of cover under which he could continue to carry on as he chose. His parents and Tevinter law would be appeased, he’d inherit his fortune, and he would climb the ranks of Tevinter society. He’d have power, money, and the nights would still be his to dally with whomever he desired. It had a certain appeal. Perhaps he could even be so lucky as to find a woman who shared his particular predicament: a sapphist eager to protect her status without compromising her predilections. It could work.

But even as he bowed to the practicality of this largely agreeable solution, the thought of it made him uncommonly exhausted. More lies. In the service of what? Financial and social security? Perpetuating the same abhorrently restrictive traditions that strangled him and others like him with the performance of a happy marriage? His eyes drifted to the second envelope. The expert calligraphy on fine paper and the white wax stamped with Rilienus’ crest alerted Dorian to his friend’s chosen such a path for himself. The envelope would no doubt carry an announcement for Rilienus’ impending nuptials to a charming and entirely unwitting young lady with fine shoes and a healthy ambition. Dorian pitied them both the life that lie ahead of them. He’d seen them together once a few days before at the Summersday feast. All evening, Dorian had watched the plaster smile on his friend’s face, so alien from the one he had written poem after poem expounding, trying to find the right words to capture the rapturous curl of that perfect ochre lip. Even as Rilienus said again and again how happy he was with his charming fiancé, Dorian sensed the light in his eyes was somehow dimmer, and his laugh had a tinny quality he’d never noticed in the past. Dorian shuddered imagining himself in Rilienus’ place, screaming soundlessly behind a practiced smile and forced laugh.

Dorian hooked his foot around a nearby wastebin and pulled it close before swiping the two letters off his desk and into the bin. For good measure, he wiggled his fingers over the bin’s contents and watched with a wry smile as the summoned flame slowly curled and blackened the envelopes and melted the wax of the seals. The choice was Rilienus’ to make, but Dorian would not support him in it by dancing at his wedding. As far as his dear parents went, they could continue to fuss over his marital status, but he was through playing along like their favorite doll to be posed and shuffled about as they pleased.

The third letter was in Alexius’ large loopy script, slipped under his door by a servant during the night. The sight of it made Dorian even more tense than his letters from Rilienus and home. But when it came to Alexius that tension came from a place of sympathy more so than resentment (thought there was still some resentment). Dorian’s mentor had long been grieving the loss of his wife and illness of his son, Felix. Dorian felt deeply for Alexius’ pain; he’d long been closer to Alexius’ family than to his own blood, and losing Livia and the impending loss of Felix hit Dorian personally. So at first when Alexius had decided to put his research on time magic with Dorian to the side to focus on the more pressing need to find a cure for Felix, Dorian had been all for it. But nearly two years had passed, and, while their effort had kept Felix alive, they were no closer to finding a cure, and it seemed clearer and clearer that they never would. Still though, Alexius pushed forward, exploring every avenue tirelessly to its eventual dead end. And Dorian followed, each time wondering if he was truly helping or enabling Alexius’ damaging obsession.

Alexius’ letter would no doubt be a request that Dorian come to his assistance in another doomed endeavor. Just the same, he slipped the blade of his letter opener under the seal and opened the message. He rubbed the knots of frustration in his neck as he read:

_Dorian,_

_I have stumbled across some writing by Claudius Forenze, a mage who specialized in blight corruption during the second blight. He had some interesting theories that have made me rethink our approach thus far. If you would please join me at my estate this evening, I could use your help reviewing his research. And I know Felix would be happy to see you; it’s been weeks since you’ve come by! I’ll have Elanni make your favorites for supper._

_-G. Alexius_

 

Dorian gritted his teeth and shook his head. Alexius knew he couldn’t say no, especially when he pulled at his heartstrings by bringing Felix into it. The young man, ten years Dorian’s junior, had come to represent everything good about Tevinter in Dorian’s eyes. He was compassionate, honest, and persistently willing to stand up for what was right, whatever the social consequences. And he had accepted Dorian completely, without reservation. He wasn’t much of a mage, a fact that was a mark of shame in Tevinter, especially as the lone scion of a great house, but Alexius and Livia had continued to support and adore Felix regardless. Despite the fact that witnessing the closeness of Alexius’ family made Dorian horribly jealous and self-pitying, it also reminded him that despite the stubborn narrowness of tradition in his homeland, the oppressive and petty government, and the prevalence of blood magic, there were still good people about in Tevinter. And that was something.

-x-

Dinner was nice as always. Felix caught Dorian up on a mathematical theorem he’d been working on. The maths went mostly over Dorian’s head, but seeing the young man’s enthusiasm brought a lightness to Dorian’s heart that the goose liver and wine alone couldn’t manage. Occasionally Dorian’s eyes would flit to Alexius who positively beamed at his son, taking in every word with paternal pride and affection. Dorian had spent the better part of his life longing to see that expression on his own father’s face. But the most Magister Pavus could manage on Dorian’s behalf was a rare satisfied nod and a “well done, Dorian.” And even that extent of affection was more than he’d seen from his father in years. Although he had sent a positively lukewarm letter of congratulations when Dorian was elevated to full enchanter a couple months before, something about it being good to finally see Dorian living up to his potential.

“Dorian?” said Felix, snapping him out of his brooding. “Am I boring you?”

Dorian smiled. “Not at all. Numbers. Riveting stuff!”

Felix and Alexius laughed. “Poor Felix,” Alexius said brightly. “I’m afraid we are a terrible audience for you. Perhaps a trip to Orlais this summer so you can hobnob with other mathematical geniuses?”

Dorian raised an eyebrow. Felix’ had his good days, but a trip to Orlais seemed overly ambitious to count on. And Alexius, the ever attentive mother hen, rarely let Felix take a trip around the square let alone across a continent.

“Really, father?” Felix said cautiously, apparently sharing Dorian’s surprise. “You think we can?”

Alexius smiled. “We will see. I believe I have a promising new treatment. Dorian and I need to run some tests, and we’ll have to see how quickly you acclimate to it. But I am cautiously optimistic that it is what we have been hoping for.”

Alexius gave Dorian a wink which Dorian returned with a thin smile. Alexius’ new treatments rarely panned out, and it seemed cruel to raise the boy’s spirits with promises that would likely fall flat. But then, turning his gaze to Felix, it didn’t look like the news had raised the young man’s spirits at all.

Felix’ brow was knit and he frowned at his father. “A new treatment?” he said darkly. “Again?”

Alexius shook his head. “This one is different. There were very promising clinical studies during the second blight.”

“And yet the blight sickness remains,” Dorian said wryly.

Alexius slapped the table. “Only because the blight ended, and the original research was lost. I’ve had archivists in every library in the Imperium scouring every text on blight illness for two years, and finally we found it! Magister Forenze’ research notes and diary. It is very promising!”

Felix sighed and stomped out of the room, shaking his head. Dorian’s heart went out to the poor lad. Years of being his fathers’ test subject was wearing on him.

“Ah!” Alexius said, leaning back in his chair. “He’s just frightened. Understandable. The side effects of these treatments have not always been easy for him to bear. But this is one, Dorian… Mark my words.”

Dorian drummed his fingertips together. “That is becoming a somewhat familiar refrain, Alexius. You know that don’t you? Every time you dig up a new medical or magical treatment, you come in here crowing about how _promising_ the theory is, how this, at last, is the _one_ that will see him cured. I don’t begrudge you your optimism, but I’m not sure Felix, or myself for that matter, can keep up spirits in light of the many _promising_ treatments that have come to dead ends.”

Alexius gaped at him. “Dead ends? Felix is alive! Two years with the blight sickness, and my son lives. Because of me.” He leaned forward against the table. “Because of _us_. Our theories and trials haven’t been _failures_ , Dorian. Someone surviving for this long with the blight, while retaining their mind… It is without precedent!” He jabbed the table with his index finger for emphasis.

Dorian held up his hands. “True enough. All I’m suggesting is that your _cautious optimism_ be heavier on the caution and lighter on the optimism, for Felix’ sake. I’d hate to see his poor heart broken again when this treatment doesn’t pan out.”

“No!” Alexius shouted, jumping to his feet. “You will not judge Forenze’s findings, until you have reviewed them fairly, with an unbiased mind.”

“An unbiased mind?” Dorian said, nearly laughing on the words. “You think your judgment unbiased?”

“Bah!” Alexius grumbled turning from him.

Dorian sighed and stood up. “I will review the research, of course. And I do hope you are right about it. Curing the blight would be quite a feather in my cap, after all,” he teased, hoping to lighten Alexius’ dour expression.

Alexius snorted. “If you can manage it, I’ll even let you take all the credit.”

Dorian smirked. “You see? This is why you have my complete abject respect and admiration. Any other mentor would steal credit for all of my work while paying me abysmally for doing it.”

Alexius laughed. “Don’t be silly, Dorian. No other mentor would have taken you on in the first place.”

Dorian ignored the sting of the jab’s truth and took it in the spirit it was intended. “Probably true. So I best earn my keep. Let me see these diaries.”

Alexius faced him with a tired but earnest smile. He put a hand on Dorian’s shoulder and guided him to the study where the papers and diaries were spread out across a large oak table, intermingled with pages of Alexius’ own notes. Dorian bent over the table to look more closely at the brittle old pages. He tutted; the script was an old dialect of Tevene and would take a fair amount of time to read. He saw many sleepless nights in his future, sacrificing his evenings out to devote himself to more of Alexius’ fruitless pursuits.

“I think I will be needing a cup of strong tea,” Dorian said, rubbing his already strained eyes.

Alexius patted him on the back gratefully. “I’ll have one brought to you.” He grabbed both of Dorian’s shoulders and turned him to face him. “Thank you, Dorian. All you have done, for me, for Felix… You are part of this family, as certainly as if you were my own son.”

Dorian flushed. The words meant a lot to him. “So does this mean that you’re going to start egging me to get married and live up to my potential? Because if so, I’ll tell you I have one father too many as it is. Though I’m sure he’d be grateful to unload me on you.”

Alexius’ brow knit. “Are you having trouble with your parents again? I could contact them on your behalf, tell them how exemplary your work has been, how impressed the Circle is with you.”

Dorian waved him off. “Don’t bother. Until I’m married and a Magister, they aren’t likely to be moved, no matter how highly you recommend me. I’ve been out of their favor for a long time, and winning it back is more trouble than it’s worth. _Your_ approval on the other hand is easy to come by, so I’ll aim for that, and sod the rest.”

Alexius gave his shoulder another squeeze. “Thank you, my boy. I’ll see about that tea.” Alexius walked out of the room.

Dorian slumped into a nearby chair and groaned. He did appreciate Alexius’ support and easy affection, but he could tell when he was being manipulated. Not that Alexius wasn’t being earnest; he was sincere in his affection and had done much to help Dorian’s career. What’s more, he was one of those rare Magisters who saw the Imperium for all it was, without the blinders of nationalism obscuring his vision. There had been a time when Dorian had believed that he and Alexius could work to change Tevinter for the better. But now all Alexius saw was his desperate desire to cure his son, and Dorian was useful to the end. So pumping up his ego, cleverly teasing his daddy issues, and pulling at every cord of sympathy he could find all influenced Dorian to be agreeable, to push aside his doubts, and to put Alexius’ will ahead of his own. So there he was, spending his night reading old diaries, positively glowing because Alexius had said he was like a son to him. He nearly groaned outload at how pathetic it all was.

-x-

The night wore on and Dorian began to get the rhythm of the old Tevene dialect and the swish of the Magister’s handwriting. But as the reading got easier, Dorian’s mood darkened. The treatment the diaries and notes documented used blood magic and some rather nasty ingredients to boot. Blood magic was a line Alexius had sworn not to cross, and had so far not messed around with. But now, over and over, trial after trail, the old texts documented the use of dark magics. What was Alexius thinking? Did he really believe that Dorian would support this?

A light knock on the door, pulled Dorian from his incredulity. “Come,” he called, rubbing his burning eyes. The door opened and Felix stepped through looking sheepish. “Felix!” Dorian said. “What are you still doing up?”

“It’s morning, D,” Felix said, moving to the windows to pull open the drapes. Sure enough, as the curtains furled, the early morning light spilled into the room.

“Maker! Already?” Dorian exclaimed. “I must have lost track of the hour. But no matter.” Dorian smiled as brightly as he was able. “What can I do for you, Felix?”

Felix frowned and pulled a chair next to him. He took a seat. Their faces quite close, Dorian could see that Felix hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before either. His eyes were darkly circled and bloodshot. “I need to talk to you, Dorian. About father and…” he waved his hand over the papers on the table “… and all of this.”

Dorian tense, not certain of what good could come from this sit down. “Alright then,” he said stiffly. “What’s on your mind.”

Felix slumped forward, cradling his head in his hands. “It has to stop, Dorian. The research, the treatments, the constant obsessing and coddling. I can’t take it anymore.”

Dorian exhaled heavily. “Your father cares for you deeply, Felix. He only wants to protect you and see you well again.”

“It’s beyond that, and you know it. I could see it on your face last night and I can see it now. He’s losing himself in this. When he isn’t obsessively pouring over research about my condition and possible treatments, he locks himself in his room, refuses meals and company, sometimes for days. Yesterday was the first I’d seen him in a week!”

It was worse than he’d thought. “I didn’t realize,” Dorian said softly. “How long has this been going on?”

“He hasn’t been himself since the accident, but it’s gotten worse over the last few months. I keep thinking, if I give him time, humor him a little longer, try to stay positive for him, but…” Felix sat up. His face was streaked with tears. “Dorian, I don’t want to live like this anymore.”

And who could blame him? Alexius was intense on the best of days, and to live gripped in worry and guilt over his father’s wellbeing would be difficult even were Felix in good health. Paired with a persistent and likely terminal illness, Dorian couldn’t imagine how hard it was for the poor boy. He was also entirely unsure of how he could help matters. “This shouldn’t fall you, Felix,” Dorian said, a sympathetic hand on Felix’ knee. “I’ll talk to him. Maybe I can convince him to travel a bit, leave you in my care so he can follow up on some leads in Rivainor something. Some time apart could…”

“No,” Felix said, his voice raw with exhaustion and feeling. “I don’t want to be under anyone’s care. I want to stop the treatments.”

“Hmm, yes. Well, _this_ treatment _will_ be quite a misery, I assure you, so I can understand why you’re not game to jump in,” Dorian said, pushing a stack of diaries away from him contemptuously.

Felix was quiet for several seconds before saying firmly, “I want to stop _all_ the treatments. No new ones; no old ones.”

Dorian’s skin prickled as Felix’ full meaning sunk in. “Felix,” he said, a frantic pitch to his tone, “If you stop the treatment, you’ll die.”

Felix nodded slowly. “Everybody dies.”

“Well, yes,” snapped Dorian. “But I don’t like everybody. I do, however, have a particular fondness for you. So, if we can, let’s stay focused on the matter at hand without rushing to generalities and truisms. If you stop your treatment, you’ll die within weeks. Maybe days.” Dorian crossed his arms. “Of course I understand you not wanting to be a perpetual test subject for every theory that flits through your father’s mind. But the current regimen has significantly slowed the progression of your illness. It’s foolish to give up on it.”

“Because it’s buying me time? Buying time for what? Testing more _cures_?”

“Buying time for more _living_ , you simpleton!” Dorian snapped, his mind a whir of anger and fear. “Just because ‘ _everybody dies’_ doesn’t mean we better hurry up and get to it! You think because you won’t see thirty-years, that makes the time you do have left worthless? If I were to die next week, does that make today a waste? Honestly! I always thought you an uncommonly clever lad, but here you go proving me wrong. And you _know_ how I detest being proven wrong.”

Felix flushed, and Dorian felt instantly guilty. The boy was hurting, and here he was drowning him in words and judgment. He could recall more than a few instances when his own father had done the same to him, talking him into submission, disregarding his feelings. Felix deserved better. And the last thing Dorian wanted was to be more like Halward Pavus.

“I’m sorry,” Dorian said with a softened tone. “You’re trying to tell me honestly what you’re feeling, and here I go being an ass. Please, ignore everything I just said, and let me try again.” Dorian took a deep breath and rested his hand atop Felix’s. “Prepare yourself for a touching speech, Felix. If you have a handkerchief handy it should come to use.”

Felix laughed through his tears.

“You are important to me,” Dorian said, already sick with himself over the overt sentimentality. “Whenever I lose faith in our countrymen and fancy running off to live in sin in Nevarra, I think of you, and I can believe that _maybe_ Tevinter isn’t a total wash after all. Because, despite the blood magic and bigotry, if our country can produce people like you, it can’t be all bad. I know you’re on borrowed time, Felix, and I’m being incredibly selfish, but I wouldn’t see you hurry to the Maker’s side just yet. Now, I can talk to your father, on your behalf, about putting an end to the new treatments and research. I don’t know that he’ll listen, but I can try.” Dorian tried to swallow back the emotion that was rising in his voice, but as he continued speaking, his voice cracked against his will. “Please, though, keep up the current regimen. I don’t have so many friends that I can be neutral about losing one.”

Dorian had hoped his speech would inspire some lightness in Felix’ affect, but the young man looked even more grim at Dorian’s affectionate words than he had at his harsh criticism. “I’m sick, Dorian,” Felix said in a low voice. “The treatment may keep me alive, but I vomit and shit myself, I can barely walk ten paces without feeling faint, and I spend more time asleep than awake most days, or I don’t sleep at all. And on top of it all, I see what my illness is doing to my father. If I was dead…”

“It would destroy him utterly,” Dorian said, willing himself not to weep for the poor boy’s suffering. “If you die, he’ll see it as his failure, just as he saw your mother’s death. And I don’t think he could come back from that. And I’m not sure _I_ could come back from losing both of you that way. When it comes down to it, you two are all I have. So don’t think you’d be doing anyone any favors by kicking off.

Felix sighed. “So what do I do? Just stand by and watch while this illness destroys my body and my father’s life?”

Dorian frowned. “I’ll talk to him. Maybe I can convince him that the best thing for you is for him to let go of the research and appreciate the time you have left together.”

“Thank you, Dorian,” Felix said with a nod and a forced smile. “I hope you can get through to him.”

“You have my word that I will do my best,” Dorian said, his stomach already roiling over the thought of the conversation ahead. He patted the young man’s shoulder affectionately. “Now get some rest.”

-x-

When Alexius came positively skipping into the study a few hours later, Dorian had already cleaned up the table, stacking the diaries, research papers, and notes neatly in piles. Dorian sat near the window in a plush armchair. Alexius face fell when he him. “Surely you can’t have finished already?” Alexius said incredulously.

“I saw enough,” Dorian said. “Would you sit with me a moment?” he added, gesturing at the chair at an angle from his own.

Alexius sighed and took the seat. “I know what you’re going to say: it’s blood magic. But if you really _look_ at the findings…”

“It doesn’t matter,” Dorian said shaking his head. “Felix doesn’t want this.”

“Ah!” said Alexius, all hopeful enthusiasm. “But you, _you_ can convince him! He looks up to you, and if you explain to him...”

Dorian leaned forward. “You shouldn’t want this either. _Blood magic_ , Alexius? That isn’t you. The fact that you are intent on pursuing this is proof positive that you’ve lost sight of what really matters here: _your son_.”

Alexius snarled, “I have never for an instant lost sight of Felix. All of this is for him! There are no lengths I wouldn’t go to save him.”

 “Don’t you see? That’s exactly the problem! You are so focused on saving his life, that you don’t even stop to think what _he_ wants.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. He wants to be free of this illness.”

“Well, ideally, yes, but that isn’t going to happen.” Dorian gestured toward the stacks of paper on the table. “None of this will cure him of the blight. It _may_ prolong his life, but at what expense? How many people will you bleed dry to keep Felix alive another year? Two years? Never mind the risks of possession. Do you know your son so poorly to think that he would ever agree to that?” And how poorly did Dorian know Alexius to think this was a line his mentor would have never crossed?

Alexius’ features softened and he buried his face in his hands. “What else can I do?” he whimpered. “The current treatment is becoming less and less effective. This ritual could buy him more time until I can find a true cure.”

“And if there is no cure to be found?” Dorian asked gently.

Alexius raised his red, tear-filled eyes to Dorian’s face. “There must be.”

Dorian frowned. “Wishing doesn’t make it so. The blights have been around for millennia, and still no cure has been found. Unless your game to sacrifice him to the Grey Wardens. Do you really think you can manage in a few years what others couldn’t achieve in thousands?”

Alexius’ nostrils flared. “One man,” he said firmly, “that’s all it takes, just one man with the vision and resources to put the pieces together, to see what others couldn’t.”

Dorian wanted to be swayed. He wanted to believe that with enough time they could find a cure and save Felix and any others who might be infected. But he couldn’t. While they futzed with magic, ancient theories, and foul concoctions, Felix suffered, Alexius suffered, and Dorian suffered. It needed to stop.

“Felix has accepted that he will die, you know,” Dorian said softly as he watched the tears stream down Alexius’ face. “He just wants some peace in the time he has left. Grant him that peace. Spend time with Felix instead of burying your nose in old books.” He sighed. “It’s time to move on, go back to the way things were before, and use your talents to affect things you can actually change.”

At the words “move on,” Alexius’ face twisted into a mask of rage. “Move on?” he parroted back. “Move on? How dare you say that! You pretend to care for my son, but you would see him dead and buried so we can return to studying thaumaturgy and fantasizing about changing Tevinter. That’s what it is, isn’t it,” he sneered with a vicious smile. “You resent that Felix’ condition has distracted me from you and our work together! Once he’s dead we’ll get back to what _really matters_ , is that what you think?”

Dorian gaped. “Are you mad? I adore Felix, and I certainly don’t wish him dead! In fact, I seem to be the only one here who cares about what Felix wants! He’d rather be dead than carry on this way!”

Alexius stood up and glowered at Dorian, his hands sparking red with the threatening glow of mana. “Get. Out.” Never had Dorian heard such a tone from Alexius.

Dorian stood, anger, fear, and sympathy making him tremble. “Alexius…”

“We are finished,” Alexius interrupted, and his words hit Dorian like a blow. “Get out of my home and away from my son. I am done with you.”

Dorian’s skin heated. Everything felt unreal. Alexius couldn’t mean it. He was angry and hurting, but surely he wasn’t cutting him loose. “Please, Alexius,” he begged, his voice wavering. “I’m trying to help you. You can’t continue this way.”

Alexius moved very close to Dorian, his hot breath burning the younger man’s face. “Get. Out.” With that, he turned from Dorian and stomped from the room.

Dorian stood dumbfounded alone in the library, unable to wrap his head around what had just happened. This couldn’t be real, couldn’t be the end, he couldn’t be cut off from the two people who mattered most to him in the whole of Thedas. It wasn’t possible. But soon an armed and armored slave stepped into the study.

“Master Alexius ordered me to see you out, sir,” he said. The words settled on Dorian like ice water.          


End file.
